We had a tiny whoosh to celebrate.
4
Liberty
Nixon: Coffee or tea?
Me: Tea, normally. But I’ve had to cut way back since you impregnated me.
I laughed as I sent the text and rolled onto my right side, hiking the covers over my shoulder. I shouldn’t be in bed, and with the southern summer, I shouldn’t be this cold. But I’d been a lot of things I shouldn’t be recently—pregnancy had finally taken hold of my body.
Me: You?
Nixon: During the season I try to stay away from all drinks that don’t hydrate properly.
Me: And offseason? I recall you had a taste for bourbon.
Nixon: Definitely. And if it’s offseason I’m known to indulge in a coffee every now and then.
I snorted at the thought of coffee as an indulgence only allowed during certain months of the year. Who could live without at least some caffeine?
Nixon: Cats or dogs?
Me: Both. I like the cuteness factor but since I’m a traveler by nature, I don’t have the heart to own a pet. It wouldn’t be fair to leave it behind once I earn my doctorate, or to cart it off every time I get the urge to fly.
My fingers flew over my phone, and I didn’t bother setting it down after I’d hit send. It had been a week of these texts from Nixon Noble—everything from my taste in music to my favorite place to travel. He’d gotten extremely inquisitive after the ultrasound.
I smoothed my hand over my belly, my heart swelling with the memory. The sound of the heartbeat, the gentle whir and whoosh the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. And Nixon’s reaction to it? God, that man was dangerous. The perfect exterior—all carved muscle and dark eyes—I could mostly ignore. But the genuine heart underneath that hardened front he put on? That was becoming increasingly hard to pretend didn’t exist. Because it would’ve been easy if he’d been some celebrity athlete jerk looking to bury this pregnancy in the quickest way possible, but Nixon had shown up in all the ways I’d never considered. And the way his dark eyes had melted at the sound of our baby’s heartbeat? Lord help me, I’d melted a little bit.
The world around me continued to shift and mold into something new and shiny every time I discovered something new about this baby.
My baby.
Nixon’s baby.
Me: You?
I sent my usual response after his stream of random questions. As much as he wanted to get to know me, I was equally curious about the quarterback.
Nixon: Dogs. I don’t have one but someday I wouldn’t mind adopting one.
Well, that was adorable.
Nixon: Favorite sport?
I bit back a smile. This was most definitely a trick question.
Me: Hockey.
I laughed at my own joke.
Nixon: Ouch!
How could he not remember? Well, I suppose I didn’t remember much from our trip to Vegas, but me gazing at him with the nervous moon-eyes of a super-fan would be hard to forget, I assumed. I’d been a Raptor fan for years, and I had many a jersey with Nixon Noble’s name sewn across the back.
Me: What? Your brother is epic on the ice.
In truth, I’d only seen old games on YouTube. I’d had to look him up after the Vegas trip. And while I didn’t know a thing about hockey, I’d seen enough of Nathan Noble’s highlight reels to know he was an exceptional athlete. The gene was strong in that family.
Nixon: He’s engaged.
Me: I remember. I loved Harper’s ability to be both welcoming and direct. Have you ever been engaged?
The question tightened the breath in my lungs. These texts the past week had been mostly surface-level stuff or things that just made me laugh. But past relationships? I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed some invisible line between us.
Nixon: That’s complicated.
I scrunched my brow as I read and re-read the text. How could it be complicated? You either put a ring on it, or you didn’t.
Nixon: You?
Me: Nope.
Not many men lining up to date someone who traveled as much as I did. Of course, college had kept me grounded for a few years, but my summers were spent traveling the world. Trying to do some good where I could. And once they handed me my doctorate? I couldn’t wait to set sail. Even with a baby on my hip, the kid would be raised like I’d been—with a pack on its back and an eye on the horizon.
A wave of nausea rolled my stomach like my bed had suddenly sprouted a sail and soared onto open seas. I cringed against the onslaught, taking deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth. The sickness was one thing I could live without—and there was no morning about it. It hit me whenever the hell it felt like it—day, afternoon, night, or that point between sleeping and waking, it didn’t discriminate when it wanted to make me hurl up my guts.
Nixon: How are you feeling?
God, it was like the man had a sixth sense for whenever I was about to puke. But, to be fair, that was ninety percent of my day lately.
Me: You seem awfully concerned for my well-being for someone who wasn’t sure I was telling the truth.
The three bubbles danced for a few seconds before disappearing. Then they popped up again, only to disappear again.
Me: I was teasing. And shitty. At the moment, I feel like I’m on a boat in a stormy sea and my stomach is barely making it.
Nixon: What can I do?
What could he do? I’d already googled every safe home remedy for morning sickness and tried them all to no avail.
Me: I’m fine. Thanks though.
Nixon: Get some rest.
Me: Already in bed, Quarterback.
Those dots popped up and disappeared again, and I rolled my eyes. What could he possibly be struggling with?
Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that he’s trying to get to know his baby mama without actually committing?
I shoved my phone under my pillow, ignoring that annoying voice in my head, and shut my eyes. I focused on my breathing until the nausea had subsided, pulling the covers up to my chin. Sleep finally claimed me, my body exhausted from vomiting most of the morning.
Two months down.
Seven to go.
God, I hoped I was strong enough to survive this.
“Liberty!” my roommate Heather shouted across our tiny apartment. “You have a visitor!”
I groaned but set down my copy of Phantoms in the Brain and capped my highlighter. I swung my legs over my bed, knocking off a few more psychology books along the way. This was my final semester, and the workload was heavy. It didn’t help that my energy had been zapped since hitting week ten of the pregnancy either.
Nearly tripping over a stack of laundry I’d meant to do yesterday, I made it through my closed bedroom door and was instantly assaulted by sound—too much of it. The TV blaring from the living room, some MMA fight on the screen. Monica and Julie laughed with their boyfriends from the couch, the sounds bouncing off the walls and twisting my nerves. I smoothed my hand over my stomach, shaking my head at the sensory overload my little peanut had decided it would add to the super-fun list of side effects I experienced on a daily basis.
Heather met me halfway in the hallway, barely holding back a wide-eyed gaze as she skipped toward me.
“Why are you making that face?” I asked, and then halted as I came around the corner.
Nixon freaking Noble stood just inside my entryway, looking exceptionally handsome in a Raleigh Raptors T-shirt and a pair of jeans.